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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26601622">all our troubles seemed so far away</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangerInAStrangeLand/pseuds/StrangerInAStrangeLand'>StrangerInAStrangeLand</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Strange (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Stephen Strange, asjskajlkaslj they are SO cute, i love themmmm, stephen strange whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:48:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,443</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26601622</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangerInAStrangeLand/pseuds/StrangerInAStrangeLand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephen falls sick after overextending himself. Clea has just the cure.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clea Strange/Stephen Strange</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>all our troubles seemed so far away</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey guys! I'm working on a new, really long fic right now. (I actually intended to put it out while updating Sunsets, but it extended into something far longer than my original plan) In the meantime have a cute little Cleaphen fic! </p>
<p>Title comes from the song Yesterday by The Beatles (it's also the song referenced in this fic!)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's the middle of the afternoon, nearly the beginning of dusk, when Clea finds her beloved on the floor of his study. <br/><br/>She recalls the moment he had stepped back into the Sanctum. She can't remember which dimension he had leapt to, but he was awfully sluggish as he limped into the door. She had rushed over to him, pressing a hand to his chest, asking if he was okay. He was tired, barely able to get a sentence out with groaning, but he still managed to smile and say those three magic words: <br/><br/>"Not to worry." <br/><br/>His smile was always so cute, even when it was plastered on a face scarred beyond belief. She wanted to take his head into her hands and hold him tight, keeping him as safe as possible. But as always, he insisted on completing his workload for the rest of the day and trudged to his study with an obvious stagger in his step. <br/><br/>Clea didn't enter the study often. Stephen never shut her out or forbade her from entering; in fact, he invited her company often. However, she could always tell that important matters were at hand whenever he was working, and she didn't want to distract him too much. He had a habit of talking her ear off when it came to his mystical findings. If he talked for too long, he'd end up blaming himself for getting distracted and would proceed to work himself to death. <br/><br/>She adored his little info-dumps, the way his eyes shone as he mused over a slug he found on a mission, his little smile when he reflected on the rocks he came across in those transcendental worlds. It were the few times she had seen him relaxed on the job. <br/><br/>But even though she knew Stephen wanted her in the study, she'd only enter when she was needed. And by needed, she meant when all was completely, perfectly quiet in the Sanctum Sanctorum. <br/><br/>It was rarely quiet in the Sanctum Sanctorum. The windows would always invite gusts of wind and random intervals. The Cyttorakian Chandelier in the sitting would flicker its lights brightly throughout the day. At every hour, each olden wicker clock would chime in unison. <br/><br/>But occasionally, there would be times where the windows would close, the chandelier would flicker out, and the clocks would silence themselves. During these times, Clea noticed the wallpaper eerily peel down the wall, slowly and miserably. The potted plants near the front doors wilted almost immediately. <br/><br/>It was the same source every time. <br/><br/>She knocks on the door to the study softly. Loud enough for Stephen to hear, but quiet enough to keep his migraine from increasing. Always 3 times. <br/><br/>The door opens on its own with a practically silent creak. As she peeks through the frame, she always sees the same sight. <br/><br/>Stephen Strange lying on the ground, an arm draped across his forehead. <br/><br/>Forehead creasing in worry, she'd quickly kneels down next to him, careful not to step on any lousy floorboards.<br/><br/>"What is it, dear?" <br/><br/>Stephen mumbles something incoherent. Clea takes his head into her hands, checking for any standout symptoms. Today, it seems to be a low fever, and judging by his flushed cheeks and fatigue, it's just a brief illness.  <br/><br/>"Aww," she coos, watching as Stephen fumbles in place, attempting to find a comfortable position. She's sad, but not surprised. This scenario had played out all too familiarly before. <br/><br/>She carefully places his head onto her lap, flicking away a stray loop of hair that was sticking to his sweaty forehead. Time for the questionnaire. <br/><br/>"How are you feeling?" <br/><br/>He responds with a groan. <br/><br/>"How long has it been going on?" <br/><br/>He raises a weak hand displaying 4 fingers. She assumes it means 4 hours, but knowing him, it could've meant 4 days and it had just finally caught up to him. <br/><br/>"When was the last time you ate?" <br/><br/>His skin pales and he makes a pained face. <br/><br/>"Don't talk about food," he rasps, strained. <br/><br/>She frowns, brushing her fingers through his fluffy hair. She knows how he's like when he's sick. He desperately wants to stop being sick as fast as possible, but he never puts in the effort to take care of himself. Even now, he's still struggling to keep his eyes open as best as he can. <br/><br/>She wasn't a doctor, but she knew exactly what he needed. <br/><br/>"Want a song?" She offered. She's delighted when Stephen slowly lifts his head to nod. "Get comfortable." <br/><br/>Stephen turns his head over, his cheek resting against her thigh. He's still tensed up, though whether that's natural or due to nausea is uncertain. All she does is stroke his back tenderly as she begins to sing. <br/><br/><em>"Yesterday...all our troubles seemed so far away...."</em> <br/><br/>She doesn't remember the song that well, but she remembered watching Stephen hum along one time as they strolled down Central Park. In fact, she could see him hum along right now in a fruitless attempt to stay awake. <br/><br/>"Sshhh," she whispered in his ear. "Relax..." <br/><br/>He stops, perhaps catching himself humming along, and momentarily loosens up. He presses a shaking hand against her knee and she takes it, rubbing tender circles with her thumb. He melts against her touch, a sincere smile spreading across his face. <br/><br/>She places some of his rambunctious hair behind his ear and continues. <br/><br/><em>"Yesterday....love was such an easy game to play...."</em> <br/><br/>Her heart skips a beat as Stephen finally lets his eyes close shut and he falls into a recuperative sleep. With a satisfied grin, Clea presses a kiss against his all-too-warm forehead and carries him into her arms. <br/><br/>A few minutes later, he's sleeping in his own bed, a damp cloth placed across his forehead. Clea climbs into bed soon after, wrapping an arm around his waist as she whispers one last word into his ear. <br/><br/>"Goodnight." </p>
<hr/>
<p>It's about half-past midnight when she wakes up to a wretched noise. It sounds like a moaning phantom, its gravely noises echoing through the bedroom. <br/><br/>Trying her best to block out the noise, she turned over and reached over to her beloved. However, all she felt was the barren half of their bed, the sheets hastily thrown off in some sort of hurry. Sitting up quickly, she turns her head to the bathroom door and feels her heart sink. <br/><br/>Realization settled in, and soon she knew what that noise was. <br/><br/>She began to get up to find her husband, only for the bathroom door to creak open. Stephen trudges out of the doorframe looking haggard and exhausted, arms wrapped around his weak frame. The moment he leans against the wall, Clea was out of bed and at his side. <br/><br/>"Love..." she whispers, pressing her fingertips against his cheekbones. She guides him to the floor, making sure he doesn't bump his head once he made it down. She whispers a light healing spell, weaving it into Stephen's skin. <br/><br/>He smiles briefly at her touch, his ghostly skin almost glowing lavender under her hand. But even magic couldn't conceal how worn out he looked. His eyes were completely sunken, and his hair was wildly unkept. Clea would've thought it charming, had it not been the product of her beloved's sickly nature. <br/><br/>Suddenly he winces, wrapping his arms tighter around his favorite woolen sweater. Clea runs her fingers through his hair, shushing him whenever he tried to speak. <br/><br/><em>"Why she had to go?"</em> She sings sweetly, taking a shaking hand into hers. <br/><br/>Stephen struggles to keep his eyes open. <em>"I don't know, she wouldn't say..."</em> <br/><br/>"Ssh..." she presses a finger to her lips, keeping him from rasping out anymore lyrics. His persistence was something she admired about him, she had to admit. <em>"I said something wrong...now I long for yesterday..."</em> <br/><br/>Like before, Stephen melts at her voice, letting his eyes close once again. He grows limp against the wall, too tired to say anything else. Smiling, Clea presses a kiss to his cheek, wraps an arm around her shoulders, and leads him back to bed. <br/><br/>As he settles back into the comfort of their mattress, Clea continues to serenade him as he falls asleep once and for all. <br/><br/><em>"Now I need a place to stay..."</em> <br/><br/>She wraps her arm around his body, holding him tightly. He hums gratefully at her grasp, content, and she finally finishes the song. <br/><br/><em>"Oh, I believe in yesterday."</em> <br/><br/>She kisses him once more and lets her head fall onto his shoulder. She could feel a hand gripping hers as she drifts off. <br/><br/>Neither of them woke up for the rest of the night. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i hope y'all liked this one aslajdlkasjk im learning how to drive and im turning 16 tomorrow :D</p></blockquote></div></div>
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